Crying

I am a crier. Now, I realize that most women are criers, but not nessecarily like me. For instance right this minute? I'm still drying my tears after having watched the Gilmore girls - Lorelai and Christopher are breaking up, which I'm glad about because I'm really more of a Luke fan and this clears the way for him, but she was just so sad. And because she's been such a loyal t.v. friend so I could identify with her - it's terrible breaking up with someone you may or may not love. Because you'll never be sure, right? Was I right or wrong, who knows. See, right there. That makes me feel like crying. I cry at funerals, naturally (but even then it's that over-the-top honking your nose kind of crying, way too much as I've been told) and I cry at weddings. In fact, at my brother Jamie's wedding this summer, I started to cry when I read the Irish blessing. so much so that I had to stop part way through. And I don't even really know her - she's very fancy, you see. I remember taking my seat and a friend whispering; "Way to hold it together" in my ear. I cried when my son 'graduated' kindergarten because they played that reggae version of 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow', and because he was still such a baby to me. When the boys were all born? Hiccouphing, blotchy hysteria. Not even really enjoying the moment, really.
I cry alone, like when I told my kids we were leaving their dad. And I smiled, said wouldn't it all turn out to be such great fun when we moved away from the city and they got their dad to themselves on the weekends? And I saw how ridiculous I was in their eyes. I let them sleep in my room, turned on a dvd for them, closed the door behind me. Slid down the door and sat there, silently weeping into my balled fist. I cry in groups. At funerals when someone you really love has died, and you forget that there is a certain level of decorum to be recognized at the 'after party'. So you try to mingle and shake hands and say 'thank you for at least pretending to be sad that he's dead' when all you really want is to smell his chewing gum.
Somehow, I still don't really picture myself as a crier. Criers are a little weak, maybe just a smidge desperate for attention. They make people uncomfortable with all that naked emotion and wadded up tissue. They make loud, choking sob noises in the theater when they watch 'Steel Magnolias' and Julia Roberts dies with that bad haircut. So - wait a minute - yeah, I guess I am that girl. But maybe it's not so much a weakness as it is - well, honouring, I suppose. Honouring the misery, the grief, the joy, the change. Honouring the terror of the new, the heartbreak of the old, and the person who, while she may be crying, is still somehow willing to leap on in.